The  First  American 
Sister  of  Charity 


Rev.  John  C.  Reville,  S.  J.,  Ph.  D. 

Associate  Editor  of  “America” 


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The  First  American 
Sister  of  Charity 


ELIZABETH  BAYLEY  SETON 


*  - 


By  the 

Rev.  John  C.  Reville,  S.  J.,  Ph.  D. 

Associate  Editor  of  "America” 


. 


boston  college  libkak> 

CHBSTNUT  HILL,  Mass. 


THE  AMERICA  PRESS 
173  E.  83rd  St. 
New  York,  N.  Y. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


I — A  Lady  of  Old  New  York 

II — The  Angel  of  the  Lazaretto 

III —  The  Cross  in  Barclay  Street 

IV —  The  Lilies  of  the  Valley 

V — The  Fruit  of  Her  Hands 


Copyright,  1921 
By 

The  America  Press 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


i 


A  LADY  OF  OLD  NEW  YORK 
HE  year  1774  marks  an  epcch  in  the  history  of  the 


i  United  States  scarcely  less  memorable  than  the  one 
which  gave  to  the  world  the- Declaration  of  Independence. 
The  events  of  1774  prepared  the  way  for  the  heroic  deeds 
of  1776.  The  Boston  Tea  Party  of  1773  had  made  the 
English  Government  realize  that  the  colonies  must  be 
cowed  or  that  an  appeal  to  arms  was  the  only  outcome. 
The  “Intolerable  Acts”  of  1774  attempted  to  accomplish 
the  first  purpose.  One  closed  the  port  of  Boston  until  the 
town  should  pay  for  the  tea  so  summarily  thrown  over¬ 
board  from  the  English  ships.  A  second,  the  Regulating 
act,  remodeled  the  charter  of  Massachusetts  and  at-  . 
tempted  to  destroy  those  free  institutions  which  were  so 
dearly  prized  by  the  people.  A  third,  the  Administration 
of  Justice  act,  provided  that  any  British  soldier  accused 
of  murder  in  putting  down  riots  or  while  enforcing  the 
revenue  laws  might  be  taken  for  trial  to  another  colony 
or  to  Great  Britain.  A  fourth,  the  Quartering  act,  im¬ 
posed  English  soldiers  as  unwelcome  guests  on  Ameri¬ 
can  householders,  and  the  fifth,  or  Quebec  act,  extended 
the  boundaries  of  that  province  southward  to  the  Ohio 
River,  thus,  as  the  colonists  claimed,  ignoring  the  rights 
of  Massachusetts,  Connecticut,  New  York  and  Virginia, 
and  doing  away  within  that  territory  with  such  cherished 
institutions  as  the  popular  meeting  and  the  freedom  of  the 
press.  The  “Intolerable  Acts”  roused  the  spirit  of  the 
people.  From  Virginia,  in  reply,  came  the  suggestion  for 
a  general  congress  “to '  deliberate  on  those  measures 
which  the  united  interests  of  America  may  from  time  to 
time  require.”  At  the  call  of  Massachusetts,  the  First 
Continental  Congress  assembled  at  Carpenter’s  Hall, 
Philadelphia,  September  5,  1774.  Fifty-five  delegates 


4 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


from  every  colony,  Georgia  excepted,  answered  the  sum¬ 
mons.  Massachusetts  sent  John  and  Samuel  Adams; 
Connecticut,  her  shoemaker  statesman,  Roger  Sherman; 
Pennsylvania,  John  Dickinson;  New  York,  John  Jay; 
South  Carolina  was  represented  by  Christopher  Gadsden 
and  John  Rutledge,  while  Virginia  sent  Richard  Henry 

Lee,  Patrick  Henry,  and  the  man  who  was  a  host  and  a 

\ 

congress  in  himself,  the  incomparable  Washington. 

The  first  Continental  Congress  exercised  a  powerful 
influence  on  the  destinies  of  America.  Without  it,  the 
work  of  the  second  Continental  Congress  would  never 
have  been  accomplished.  It  prepared  the  way  for  the 
crowning  act  of  that  body,  the  protest  of  an  entire  nation 
that  it  would  no  longer  submit  to  tyranny.  The  nation 
has  seen  no  more  stirring  times  than  those  in  which  these 
great  events  were  taking  place.  The  very  spirit  of  liberty 
seemed  to  be  borne  through  the  land,  everywhere  light¬ 
ing  the  flame  of  high  resolve  in  the  breasts  of  its  citizens. 
Great  things  were  being  done  for  that  most  sacred  of  all 
causes,  after  the  cause  of  God  Himself,  human  freedom 
and  progress. 

It  was  amidst  these  throes  that  the  American  Repub¬ 
lic  came  into  being.  Only  a  few  days  before  the  first  Con¬ 
tinental  Congress  assembled  at  Philadelphia,  a  child  was 
born  whose  life  and  example  were  to  exercise  a  large 
influence  on  the  destines  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  the 
country  which  Washington  and  Jefferson  were  trying  to 
save  from  tyranny.  That  child,  Elizabeth  AnnJBayley, 
was  born  in  New  York  City  on  the  28th  of  August,  1774. 
She  is  better  known  as  that  Mother  Seton,  whose  calm 
and  sweet  image  appears  on  the  very  first  pages  of  the 
history  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  our  country,  reminding 
us  of  an  epic  age  and  epic  deeds  in  both  Church  and  State. 
She  was  the  second  of  the  three  daughters  of  a  distin¬ 
guished  physician,  Dr.  Richard  Bayley  and  of  Catharine 
Charlton,  his  first  wife.  The  Bayleys  and  the  Charltons 
were  well-known  members  of  the  best  society  of  early 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


5 


New  York.  In  the  beginning  of  the  struggle  of  the  col¬ 
onies  with  the  mother-country,  the  Bayleys  were  stanch 
loyalists,  but  when  the  contest  was  over  and  the  former 
dependencies  of  Great  Britain  became  the  free,  sovereign 
and  independent  United  States  of  America,  Dr.  Bayley 
threw  in  his  lot  with  th£  new  Republic  and  became  one  of 
its  most  loyal  citizens.  He  had  left  no  doubt  as  to  his 
sympathies  with  England,  during  the  struggle.  The  war 
over,  no  one  ever  doubted  his  loyalty  to  the  United  States. 
His  service  as  first  Health  Officer  of  the  Port  of  New 
York,  and  his  sympathetic  and  unceasing  labors  for  the 
sick  in  the  Quarantine  Station  on  Staten  Island  can  never 
be  forgotten. 

Stirring  times  were  those  in  which  little  Elizabeth  Bay- 
ley  played  down  by  the  Battery  where  the  citizens  strolled 
to  watch  the  ships  swing  up  the  harbor,  or  trudged  to 
school  with  the  little  misses  of  the  better  class,  or  later  on, 
from  the  heights  of  Craigdon,  her  father-in-law’s  country 
house  on  a  neck  of  land,  that  is  now  Forty- third  Street, 
between  Eleventh  Avenue  and  the  Hudson,  looked  down 
on  that  beautiful  river  and  watched  the  ships  riding  at 
anchor.  She  was  only  two  years  old  when  King  George’s 
red-coats  marched  into  the  city,  which  they  held  from 
1776  to  1783.  The  din  of  war  sounded  around  her  cradle, 
and  if  she  slumbered  peacefully  while  Howe  and  Wash¬ 
ington  were  locked  in  the  death  struggle  of  Long  Island, 
others  feared  and  trembled  for  her.  She  was  nine  years 
old  when  she  saw  the  British  regiments  march  out  from 
the  city  they  had  so  long  held.  From  some  window  along 
the  way,  or  held  perhaps  by  a  friendly  hand  in  some 
crowded  street,  she  watched  other  troops  marching  in, 
the  ragged  but  indomitable  veterans  of  Washington,  and 
the  great  Virginian  at  their  head.  She  saw  the  British 
flag  hauled  down  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flung  to  the 
breeze.  The  heart  of  the  little  maid  must  have  felt  a  sen¬ 
sation  of  genuine  pride  as  it  was  unfolded  before  her,  and 
she  heard  thousands  loudly  hailing  it  as  the  emblem  of 


6 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


justice  and  liberty.  That  year,  1783,  Elizabeth’s  fellow- 
New  Yorker,  Washington  Irving,  was  born. 

The  child  lost  her  mother  when  she  was  three  years  old. _ , 

Her  stepmother,  a  member  of  that  Barclay  family  whose 
name  is  perpetuated  to  this  day  in  New  York  by  a  well- 
known  thoroughfare,  was  strongly  attracted  to  her  and 
to  some  extent,  if  that  be  possible,  took  the  place  of  the 
dead  Catharine  Charlton,  the  mother  so  early  lost,  but 
whose  image  still  lingered  in  her  daughter’s  heart.  But 
good  Dr.  Bayley  was  “Bettie’s”  idol,  while  the  kindly 
physician  was  mother,  guide,  philosopher  and  friend  to 
his  bright  and  attractive  daughter.  If  Bettie  was  sent  to 
the  rather  formal  and  unprogressive  schools  of  the 
metropolis,  it  was  from  her  father  that  she  learned jmpstr— 
As  far  as  his  duties  would  allow,  he  presided  over  her 
studies.  His  word  was  law.  The  little  New  Yorker 
liked  neither  French  nor  music,  and  independent  Ameri¬ 
can  that  she  was,  flung  her  music  book  and  her  grammar 
aside,  declaring  that  she  would  have  no  such  foreign 
importations.  But  Dr.  Bayley  was  an  old-fashioned 
father,  and  even  Miss  Elizabeth  Ann  Bayley,  loved,  petted 
and  idolized  though  she  was,  was  not  to  be  the  mistress 
in  his  household.  A  word  of  warning  soon  brought  the 
wayward  little  rebel  back  to  the  hated  French  and  the 
neglected  piano.  A  man  of  sterling  character,  of  the  high¬ 
est  integrity,  of  a  charity  that  knew  no  bounds,  fearless 
in  the  performance  of  his  duties  as  an  army  surgeon,  and 
in  the  presence  of  the  contagious  diseases  that  too  often 
ravaged  the  city,  Dr.  Bayley  had  but  one  fault.  He  had 
been  tainted  by  the  false  philosophy  of  the  age,  by  the 
Deism  of  Rousseau  and  Voltaire.  His  religion  seems  to 
have  been  that  which  too  often  rules  the  conduct  of  other¬ 
wise  high-minded  and  noble-hearted  men,  service  to  hu¬ 
manity.  Such  a  religion  is  inadequate  and  unjust,  for  it 
looks  to  the  present  only,  and  neglects  the  Creator. 

Dr.  Bayley’s  daughter  seems,  for  a  very  brief  moment, 
to  have  been  dazzled  by  the  glittering  sophisms  of  Rous- 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


7 


seau  and  his  school,  but  she  was  too  deeply  religious  to 
remain  long  under  that  malignant  spell.  She  was  reared 
Jn  an  atmosphere  of  strict  Episcopalianism.  But  her 
soul  was  naturally  Catholic.  In  her  innocent  girlhood 
and  during  that  painful  stage  of  her  married  life,  when, 
in  a  foreign  land,  she  watched  like  an  angel  of  consolation 
over  the  last  moments  of  her  dying  husband,  we  can  see 
how  deeply  attached  she  was  to  the  religion  in  which  she 
was  brought  up.  What  unconsciously  attracted  her  in  it, 
was  that  element  of  Catholicism  which  it  still  retained, 
belief  in  the  Divinity  of  Christ  and  attachment  to  His 
Sacred  Person.  Already  as  a  child,  and  when  growing  to 
womanhood,  she  is  strongly  drawn  to  Him.  After  the 
Bible,  which  she  reads  on  the  seashore  and  in  the  quiet 
recesses  of  Craigdon  or  New  Rochelle,  she  loves  the  “Imi¬ 
tation  of  Christ,”  and  tries  to  regulate  her  life  according 
to  its  lessons.  She  wears  a  little  crucifix  over  her  heart. 
The  Holy  Name  has  for  her  an  irresistible  charm,  she 
bows  reverently  at  its  sacred  sound.  That  distinctively 
Catholic  doctrine  that  tells  us  that  guardian  spirits  watch 
over  our  steps,  appeals  strongly  to  her,  and  she  commends 
her  acts  and  her  life  to  these  heavenly  protectors.  She 
yearns  to  be  incorporated  into  Christ  by  the  participation 
of  His  Sacred  Body  and  Blood.  Although  the  Episcopal 
Church  can  offer  her  nothing  else  but  the  shadow  of  that 
life-giving  Body,  even  for  that  she  hungers,  and  prepares 
with  the  greatest  fervor  for  the  reception  of  the  empty 
elements  of  the  bread  and  wine.  How  admirably  this 
foreshadows  the  fervor  with  which  she  will  approach  the 
Altar  later  on  in  life,  when,  under  the  Sacramental  spe¬ 
cies  she  will  receive  really  and  truly,  and  not  merely  in 
image  and  in  shadow,  the  Body  and  the  Blood  of  her 
Lord! 

But  childhood  and  girlhood  passed.  With  thousands  of 
her  fellow-citizens,  Elizabeth  Bayley,  then  in  her  fifteenth 
year,  witnessed  the  inauguration  in  New  York  of  George 
Washington  as  President  of  the  United  States.  It  was 
the  30th  of  April,  1789.  The  inauguration  took  place  at 


8 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


Federal  Hall  on  the  corner  of  Wall  and  Broad  Streets.  It 
was  noon,  and  the  great  Virginian,  accompanied  by  Chan¬ 
cellor  Livingston,  Adams,  Hamilton,  Knox,  Steuben  and 
St.  Clair  stepped  forth  on  the  balcony.  After  Livingston 
had  pronounced  the  oath  of  office,  Washington  kissed  the 
Bible  and  solemnly  swore  to  keep  and  safeguard  the  Con¬ 
stitution  of  the  United  States. 

The  official  recorder  of  the  proceedings  was  Thomas 
Lloyd,  a  Catholic,  a  former  student  at  St.  Omer,  under 
the  Jesuits  Carroll  and  John  Leonard  Neale.  From  the 
notes  taken  down  by  him,  the  address  of  our  first  Presi¬ 
dent  was  given  to  the  public.  Thomas  Lloyd  is  rightly 
called  the  Father  of  American  stenography.  It  was  one 
of  his  boasts  that  at  St.  Omer  he  had  acquired,  not  only 
his  ability  at  shorthand,  but  his  republican  principles. 
The  solemnity  of  the  scene  must  have  deeply  impressed 
the  susceptible  mind  of  the  young  girl.  A  crisis  had  come 
in  the  nation’s  life.  One  was  facing  her. 

It  was  time  for  Elizabeth  Bayley  to  decide  what  her 
future  career  should  be.  Her  social  position  admitted  her 
into  the  inner  circles  of  fashionable  society.  Cultured 
and  refined,  gentle  and  singularly  affectionate,  she  united 
to  grace  of  form  and  charm  of  manner  unusual  strength 
of  character  and  that  easy  self-control  which  she  had 
learned  from  her  father.  She  was  rather  small  in  stature, 
says  one  of  her  biographers,  but  slenderly  and  gracefully 
formed.  Her  face,  with  finely  cut  features,  and  lit  by 
brilliant  black  eyes,  was  framed  with  masses  of  dark  curl¬ 
ing  hair.  Her  presence  breathed  refinement  and  inno¬ 
cence.  She  had  lived  through  stirring  and  trying  times. 
Under  the  reserve  of  her  perfect  womanliness,  there  were 
the  warm  heart  and  the  sprightliness  of  a  childlike  nature 

/  ^+"*K*m* 

unconscious  of  evil.  Admirers  and  suitors  came.  Of 
their  going  and  coming  and  lingering  we  have  little 
record.  The  young  girl  was  waiting  for  the  man  to  whom, 
without  fear  or  scruple,  she  could  give  her  hand  and 
heart,  and  entrust  her  happiness  and  her  life.  He  came  at 
last.  It  was  William  Magee  Seton,  eldest  son  of  William 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


9 


Seton,  a  wealthy  New  York  merchant,  who,  in  his  later 
years,  was  cashier  of  the  old  Bank  of  New  York,  of  which 
President  Roosevelt’s  grandfather  was  president.  Wil- 
.  liam  Magee  Seton  had  all  that  Elizabeth  Bayley’s  heart 
could  desire.  The  name  he  bore  had  long  been  famous  in 
Scottish  romance  and  story.  He  had  wealth  and  social 
position.  He  was  a  refined  and  cultured  gentleman.  Miss 
Bayley  rpade  her  choice  calmly,  deliberately,  and  if  her 
heart  dictated  that  choice,  it  was  ruled  and  controlled  by 
her  reason  and  her  faith.  To  William  Seton  she  gave  her¬ 
self  entirely  in  the  bloom  of  her  maidenhood  and  inno¬ 
cence,  with  a  childlike  and  nobly  romantic  trust  that 
never  faltered.  A  model  daughter,  she  became  a  model 
bride. 

The  marriage  of  the  youthful  couple,  for  the  bride  was 
not  yet  twenty  years  old,  took  place  in  John  Street,  New 
York,  the  ceremony  being  performed  by  Doctor  Provost, 
the  Episcopalian  Bishop  of  New  York.  »  William  Seton 
carried  his  young  wife  to  his  father’s  house  and  into  her 
new  family,  Elizabeth  Seton  came  as  an  angel  of  com¬ 
fort  and  joy.  To  the  shrewd  and  kindly  old  merchant,  she 
came  as  a  beloved  daughter,  an  adviser  and  friend.  The 
younger  brothers  and  sisters  of  her  husband  loved  her  as 
a  second  mother,  while  in  the  eldest  unmarried  daughter 
of  the  house,  Rebecca  Seton,  the  young  matron  found  “the 
friend  of  her  soul.”  In  the  autumn  of  1794,  the  year  that 
saw  John  Jay  negotiate  his  famous  treaty  with  England, 
and  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  deal  a  death-blow  to  the 
treacherous  Indians  at  Fallen  Timbers,  the  young  couple 
“moved”  to  No.  8  State  Street,  to  a  house  which  at  pres¬ 
ent  is  the  Mission  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary,  for  the 
Protection  of  Irish  Immigrant  Girls.  Here  in  May,  1795, 
Elizabeth  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  The  child  was  named 
Anna  Maria.  Four  other  children  subsequently  blessed 
the  union:  William,  Richard  Bayley,  Catharine  and  Re¬ 
becca.  - 

We  cannot  but  admire  the  Providence  of  God  when  we 
read  the  truly  idyllic  pages  of  this  part  of  Mrs.  Seton’s 


10 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


life.  God  was  working  wonders  in  this  pure  and  unselfish 
soul.  Her  husband,  her  children,  her  household  duties, 
her  father,  the  new  family  with  which  she  was  in  daily 
contact,  the  poor,  her  domestics :  these  absorbed  her  ener¬ 
gies  and  called  upon  all  her  love.  The  duties  of  the 
mother  and  the  wife,  the  cares  of  the  mistress  of  a  full 
household,  the  works  of  charity  she  performed  among  the 
poor  of  the  city  were  preparing  the  heart  and  the  soul  of 
Elizabeth  Seton  for  her  nun’s  life  in  the  cloistered  peace 
of  Emmitsburg.  Even  now  her  deep  faith,  her  love  of  her 
Redeemer  and  her  longing  for  His  presence  and  His  grace 
in  her  soul,  her  zeal  and  piety,  were  foreshadowing  the 
sanctity  of  future  days. 

Calmly  glided  the  early  years  of  Elizabeth  Seton’s  mar¬ 
ried  life.  Proud  of  her  young  husband,  prouder  if  possible 
of  the  happy  brood  of  children  that  crowded  her  nurs¬ 
ery  floor,  she  saw  no  cloud  on  the  horizon.  Those  were 
sunny  days  as  they  sauntered  down  to  the  Battery  to 
watch  the  ever-changeful  waters  of  the  changeless  sea, 
or  rested  under  the  shade  of  the  Craigdon  trees,  or  sailed 
up  the  noble  river  under  the  mighty  ramparts  of  the  Pali¬ 
sades,  the  young  bride  and  mother  little  dreaming  that 
there,  on  that  eminence  a  few  miles  from  the  city  of  her 
birth,  an  eminence  then  crowned  with  the  banners  of  a 
noble  forest,  a  cloistered  pile  would  one  day  rise,  and  the 
voices  of  the  young  and  of  a  thousand  and  more  of  her 
spiritual  daughters  would  be  lifted  up  to  call  her  blessed. 

But  trial  comes  to  all  the  friends  of  God.  By  it  He 
tests  the  vigor  of  their  faith,  the  strength  of  their  loyalty 
and  their  love.  It  came  -to  William  Seton’s  bride.  In 
June  1798,  her  loved  father-in-lav/  died.  Elizabeth 
mourned  over  him  as  over  another  father,  A  heavier 
blow  awaited  her.  In  the  summer  of  1801  yellow  fever 
appeared  in  New  York.  Dr.  Bayley  was  at  his  post  of 
danger.  As  Health  Officer  of  the  Port  he  was  untiring  in 
his  labors  to  stem  the  disease  and  to  help  the  .fever- 
stricken.  While  attending  to  a  band  of  Irish  immigrants, 


11 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


whose  marvelous  faith  and  resignation  to  their  wretched 
fate  deeply  impressed  him,  he  was  himself  attacked  by  the 
contagion.  The  anguish  of  Elizabeth  was  heart-break¬ 
ing.  She  had  been  her  father’s  darling.  He  had  been  her 
idol  and  her  playmate,  her  best  friend.  He  was  dying} 
almost  without  a  thought  of  God  or  His  Blessed  Son,  the 
Redeemer  of  the  world.  What  could  she  do  for  him? 
Gladly  would  that  incomparable  daughter  have  given  up 
her  own  life  that  her  father  might  not  die  without  some 
sign  of  faith  and  repentance.  Her  own  life  was  as  noth¬ 
ing  to  such  a  gain.  But  the  young  mother  had  something 
more  precious  to  give.  Bending  over  the  cradle,  where 
her  little  Catharine  was  sleeping,  she  lifted  the  innocent 
babe  in  her  arms  and  offered  her  darling’s  life  to  God  for 
the  salvation  of  her  father’s  soul.  The  child  was  spared, 
but  when  he  felt  the  last  moment  come,  Dr.  Bayley 
repeated  with  every  sign  of  faith  and  love  the  Sacred 
Name  which  Elizabeth,  kneeling  at  his  side,  was  mur¬ 
muring  in  his  ear. 

But  still  another  blow  was  to  fall.  The  death  of  the 
elder  Setcn,  had  deprived  his  son  of  a  wise  and  prudent 
guide.  Young  Seton  “had  many  ventures  forth.”  But 
they  that  carry  on  their- business  in  ships  on  the  treacher¬ 
ous  seas  are  seldom  safe  from  the  bitter  jests  of  fortune. 
The  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  commerce  and  the  war  or 
rather  threat  of  war  between  France  and  the  United 
States  caused  a  suspension  of  trade  with  French  ports. 
The  Seton  firm  was  threatened  with  financial  failure. 
The  anxieties  and  worries  which  were  the  natural  results 
of  these  reverses  grievously  affected  the  health  of  Mr. 
Seton.  In  all  his  troubles  Elizabeth  stood  courageously 
af  his  side.  Her  husband’s  trials  were  hers.  With  him, 
if  necessary,  she  would  share  the  most  trying  lot.  Pov¬ 
erty,  loss  of  social  position  and  prestige,  what  was  all  that, 
while  they  had  their  mutual  love  and  the  affection  of  their 
children?  Never  was  the  mother  and  the  wife  more 
heroic,  more  unselfish.  Every  social  pleasure  she  gave 


12 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


up,  every  absolutely  unnecessary  expense  was  gradually 
curtailed.  They  had  lived  in  something  like  luxury.  They 
now  were  satisfied  with  the  lot  of  the  poon  Not  once  did 
the  affection,  the  tenderness,  the  buoyancy,  the  soul-deep 
loyalty  of  this  admirable  woman  fail.  Her  trust  in  God 
was  the  trust  of  the  great  Saints,  of  Teresa  of  Jesus,  and 
the  Little  Flower,  of  Frances  de  Chantal  and  Margaret 
Mary,  and  the  great  Saint,  of  whom,  unconsciously  she 
was  already  the  spiritual  daughter,  Vincent  de  Paul. 

But  William  Seton’s  health  was  shattered.  To  regain 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  if  he  were  to  make  good  the 
heavy  losses  of  the  last  year.  In  his  early  youth  he  had 
visited  Haly,  and  in  the  course  of  business  had  become 
acquainted  with  a  family  of  merchant  princes,  theJFilic- 
chis  of  Leghorn.  His  physician  had  told  the  sufferer  that 
a  sea  voyage  might  restore  his  waning  health.  Time  and 
again  the  Filicchis  had  offered  him  the  hospitality  of 
their  home.  It  was  now  a  duty  for  the  patient  to  accept 
the  generous  offer.  He  resolved  to  make  the  journey. 
Elizabeth  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of  abandoning 
him.  Whatever  his  fate,  she  would  share  it,  sickness  or 
stormy  sea,  loneliness  or  death.  When  she  had  plighted 
her  troth  to  William  Seton,  it  had  been  no  idle  word  nor 
empty  ceremony.  She  meant  to  fulfill  it  to  the  letter. 
She  had  made  the  promise  before  God.  He  would  give 
her  the  courage  and  strength  to  carry  it  through.  On! 
Him  she  relied  and  on  her  love.  Neither  was  to  fail  her. 
She  thought  it  wise  to  let  her  eldest  child,  Anna  Maria, 
now  nine  years  old,  accompany  her.  To  her,  Anna  Maria 
would  be  a  help,  to  the  suffering  husband  a  companion 
and  a  source  of  joy.  The  preparations  were  made.  On 
October  2,  1803,  the  little  party  boarded  the  “Shepherd- 
ess”,  bound  for  Leghorn.  A  sturdy  and  kindly  Irish  sea¬ 
man,  Captain  O’Brien,  name  of  happy  omen,  as  we  shall 
see,  for  Elizabeth  Seton,  commanded  the  little  vessel. 
The  voyage  was  uneventful.  Six  weeks  after,  the  “Shep¬ 
herdess”  dropped  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Leghorn. 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


13 


II. 

THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  LAZARETTO 

TO  the  stranger  who  for  the  first  time  sets  foot  upon 
her  shores,  Italy  is  a  land  of  enchantment.  Her  sunny 
skies,  the  music  and  the  laughter  of  her  children,  the 
treasures  of  art  found  in  her  great  cities  and  the  hum¬ 
blest  of  her  hamlets,  the  monuments  of  bygone  ages  that 
everywhere  meet  the  eye,  the  ruins  of  her  pagan  shrines, 
the  splendor  of  the  temples  she  has  raised  to  the  worship 
of  the  true  God,  her  sufferings,  her  victories,  the  glory  of 
her  mountains  helmeted  with  snow,  the  wizardry  of  her 
valleys,  weave  an  irresistible  spell  over  the  imagination 
and  the  heart.  To  those  magic  shores,  the  “Shepherdess” 
had  carried  William  Seton  and  his  beloved  wife  and  child. 
In  the  words  of  the  Trojan  exiles  well  might  they  have 
exclaimed: 

Tendimus  in  Latium  sedes  ubi  fata  beat  as 
Ostendunt. 

“To  Italy  we  sail,  where  Providence  points  out  to  us  a 
peaceful,  a  blessed  home!”  Yet,  Elizabeth  may  have 
heard  something  like  the  echo  of  those  words  that 
sounded  in  the  hero’s  ears  of  old,  bidding  him  fly  from  an 
inhospitable  shore.  “Fuge  crudeles  terras,  fuge  littus 
avarum !”  “Fly,  Lady,  fly  from  those  cruel,  those  deadly 
shores!”  For  beautiful  and  kindly  to  others,  to  her  that 
enchanting  land  was  at  first  to  be  an  abode  of  sorrow  and 
death.  Yet  the  hand  of  God  seemed  to  guide  her  thither 
almost  in  spite  of  herself. 

To  Leghorn  the  “Shepherdess”  brought  the  news  that 
yellow  fever  had  again  ravaged  New  York.  The  very 
mention  of  the  disease  smote  like  a  funeral  knell  on  the 
officials  of  the  port.  To  make  matters  worse,  the  little 
American  vessel  anchored  in  the  roads  could  produce  no 
health  certificate.  Its  passengers  therefore  were  forbid¬ 
den  to  land  and  condemned  to  the  lazaretto  or  detention 
hospital  for  a  well-nigh  interminable  quarantine.  On  the 


14  -  The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


ears  of  William  Seton,  worn  out  by  the  long  sea-journey, 
weaker  even  than  when  he  had  left  New  York,  shattered 
in  spirit,  the  sentence  was  a  sentence  of  death.  Elizabeth 
and  Anna  Maria  could  scarcely  check  their  tears.  But 
the  heroic  mother  and  the  brave  little  daughter  did  not 
think  of  themselves.  For  that  dear  one’s  sake,  they  en¬ 
deavored  to  hide  their  cruel  disappointment.  They  had 
come,  they  thought,  to  the  land  of  sunshine  and  flowers 
and  balmy  breezes.  They  were  doomed  to  a  prison  and 
a  tomb.  For  such  it  looked,  when  after  being  rowed  in  a 
barge  from  the  ship,  the  three  ill-fated  voyagers  reached 
a  canal  from  which  they  heard  the  grinding  of  the  lifted 
chains,  and  then  passing  between  high  stone  walls  and 
frowning  piers,  came  to  the  damp  and  cheerless  quaran¬ 
tine  station.  They  were  treated  kindly  by  the  warden 
and  the  health  officers.  But  the  nature  of  the  mysterious 
disease  of  which  they  might  perhaps  be  carrying  the 
•  deadly  germs,  prevented  anything  like  familiar  inter¬ 
course  between  the  exiles  and  their  guardians. 

The  lives  of  some  of  the  greatest  servants  of  God  might 
be  well  summarized  in  these  words:  heroism  in  suffer¬ 
ing.  But  in  the  splendid  record  these  great  men  and 
women  have  left  us,  it  might  be  difficult  to  find  anything 
to  surpass  the  heroic  constancy,  magnanimity,  tenderness 
and  love  which  were  now  displayed  by  Elizabeth  Seton, 
this  magnificent  type  of  American  and  Christian  woman¬ 
hood.  She  was  not  yet  the  Foundress  of  the  Sisters  of 
Charity  of  Emmitsburg.  But  she  was  the  Sister  of  Char¬ 
ity  and  the  Angel  of  the  Lazaretto.  She  had  not  as  yet 
the  full  light  of  the  Truth  for  which  she  longed.  But 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  one  of  the  reasons  why  later 
on  she  was  given  to  see  the  plentitude  of  the  Truth,  was 
that  she  had  never  been  rebellious  to  the  light  and  that, 
as  far  as  she  knew,  arid  as  far  as  her  feeble  strength  would 
allow,  she  had  never  failed  in  her  duties  as  wife  and 
mother.  Devoted  wife,  gentlest  of  mothers!  If  God 
gave  the  infant  Church  of  America  great  models  and 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


15 


leaders  in  saintly  prelates  like  Carroll  and  Cheverus  and 
Brute  and  Dubois  and  Dubourg,  it  was  also  by  a  special 
Providence  that  He  gave  it  a  model  for  the  womanhood 
of  the  great  Republic  in  this  gentle  but  indomitable  spirit. 

The  record  which  Mrs.  Seton  wrote  of  the  tragic  days 
spent  with  her  dying  husband  and  suffering  daughter  in 
the  lazaretto  of  Leghorn  is  one  of  the  most  touching  and 
soul-affecting  ever  written  by  a  woman’s  hand.  It  is  the 
story  of  a  great  sorrow,  and  a  great  love.  Simple,  artless, 
but  poignant  in  its  very  simplicity,  it  unconsciously 
reveals  the  nobility  of  her  soul,  the  depth  of  her  Christian 
faith  and  the  strength  of  her  woman’s  heart. 

On  entering  the  lazaretto,  the  three  prisoners,  for  such 
they  were,  had  caught  a  hasty  glimpse  of  Antonio  Filic- 
chi,  one  of  that  merchant  family  with  which  William 
Seton  had  long  been  bound  by  the  ties  of  the  closest 
friendship.  Antonio  Filicchi  and  his  brother  Filippo 
deserve  the  gratitude  of  every  American  Catholic.  To 
them  Mrs.  Seton  owed,  first,  whatever  alleviation  was 
allowed  her,  her  suffering  husband  and  child  in  the  laza¬ 
retto.  Noble-hearted  gentlemen,  merchant  princes,  they 
used  their  wealth  for  no  sordid  or  selfish  aims.  They 
used  it  now  for  the  relief  of  three  exiles,  a  dying  husband, 
an  agonizing  wife,  a  little  child,  all  longing  for  the  sun¬ 
shine  and  the  flowers,  and  locked  in  a  sunless  tomb.  Good 
Samaritans,  they  did  not  look  merely  to  the  wine,  the  oil 
and  the  lodging  for  the  welfare  of  the  body,  they  thought 
more  of  the  soul  of  their  suffering  friends.  To  Antonio 
Filicchi,  Mrs.  Seton  owed  the  beginning  of  her  conver¬ 
sion.  His  example  and  his  words  were  decisive  influences 
in  her  acceptance  of  the  Faith  of  which  he  was  such  a 
splendid  example. 

The  Angel  of  the  Lazaretto  soon  realized  that  God 
asked  of  her  the  sacrifice  of  her  husband’s  life.  The  chills, 
the  fever,  the  racking  cough,  the  sleepless  nights,  the 
wasting  frame  and  sunken  eyes  of  the  patient  told  her  that 
the  end  was  near.  Even  with  all  the  kindness  of  Antonio 


16 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


Filicchi  to  help  her,  she  could  do  but  little  to  relieve 
Seton’s  pain.  Even  if  her  gentle  ministrations  could  for 
a  moment  relieve  the  sufferer,  the  gloomy  walls  of  their 
prison,  the  brick  floor,  the  wind  that  swept  through  every 
crevice  of  their  cell,  the  beating  of  the  waves  against  the 
rocks  on  the  shore  not  far  away,  created  an  atmosphere  of 
fear  and  terror  against  which  it  seemed  impossible  to 
fight. 

William  Seton  had  been  a  model  husband,  a  man  of 
spotless  honor  and  life.  But,  like  Dr.  Bayley,  he  had  been 
but  little  influenced  by  religion.  One  of  the  blessings  of 
suffering  is  that  it  turns  the  soul  to  God.  The  prisoner  of 
the  lazaretto,  moved  undoubtedly  more  than  ever  by  the 
gentleness,  the  love  and  patience  of  the  angel  that  knelt 
by  his  side,  murmuring  his  name  in  her  prayers  that  God 
might  spare  him  to  her  love,  must  have  asked  himself 
what  was  the  source  of  her  fortitude  and  her  love.  It 
could  be  none  other  than  the  religion  she  so  conscienti¬ 
ously  obeyed  and  which  as  a  boy  he  had  practised  with 
unhesitating  faith  and  then  forgotten.  With  Elizabeth 
and  the  innocent  Anna  Maria,  poor  little  lamb,  already 
exposed  to  the  cruel  winds  of  suffering,  he  prayed  again, 
and  the  Sacred  Name  fell  from  his  lips.  In  his  suffering 
he  recognized  the  hand  of  God,  and  submitted  to  His  holy 
will.  Taught  by  that  guardian  angel  whom  God  had 
given  him  for  his  consolation  and  joy,  he  sincerely  and 
humbly  turned  to  Him,  begging  pardon  for  his  sins  with 
filial  trust  in  His  mercy  and  goodness. 

It  was  almost  Christmas  and  memories  of  home  and  the 
loved  ones  left  beyond  the  seas  crowded  upon  the  exiles. 
Only  for  the  devotion  of  the  Filicchis,  the  great  feast 
would  have  been  passed  in  the  dreary  cell  of  the  hospital. 
Thanks  no  doubt  to  these  good  Samaritans,  the  days  of 
quarantine  were  slightly  abridged  and  though  barely  able 
to  move,  so  weak  was  he  and  so  near  to  death,  William 
Seton  was  carried  to  Pisa  followed  by  his  heroic  wife  and 
child.  It  was  the  19th  of  December.  Christmas  day  - 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


17 


dawned,  and  the  bells  were  ringing  their  merry  peal  from 
every  steeple  along  the  Arno.  When  Seton  opened  his 
eyes  after  a  feverish  night’s  rest,  the  watchful  and  unrest¬ 
ing  angel-wife  was  at  his  side  announcing  tidings  of  great 
joy,  for  it  was  the  day,  she  told  him,  of  their  dear  Redeem¬ 
er’s  birth,  the  day  that  opened  to  them  the  gates  of  ever¬ 
lasting  life.  Husband,  wife  and  child  prayed  together. , 
Two  days  after,  early  in  the  morning  of  December  27,  his 
hand  in  the  grasp  of  wife  and  child,  William  Seton  quietly 
passed  away.  His  last  words  were :  “My  dear  wife  and 
little  ones!  My  Jesus,  have  mercy  and  receive  me!”  x 

The  trial  had  been  severe.  But  fortified  by  her  unques¬ 
tioning  faith,  her  never-faltering  trust  in  God,  her  wifely 
devotion,  the  sufferer  had  borne  her  slow  martyrdom 
without  a  murmur.  If  she  trembled  under  the  blow,  her 
brave  spirit  was  not  broken.  She  lifted  her  tear-dimmed 
eyes  to  Heaven.  One  day  she  would  rejoin  the  husband 
of  her  youth.  He  had  not  entirely  forsaken  her,  for  Anna 
and  the  little  babes  he  had  left  her,  still  remained.  For 
them  she  would  live  and  toil,  and  in  living  for  them,  she- 
was  but  carrying  out  his  wishes  and  cherishing  his  mem¬ 
ory. 

In  her  hour  of  sorrow,  the  exiled  American  lady  real¬ 
ized  that  she  had  more  friends  in  this  strange  land  than 
she  had  ever  suspected.  The  kindly  warden,  or  captain 
of  the  lazaretto,  the  officers  of  the  hospital,  and  the 
attendants  who  had  helped  her  in  her  seclusion,  gave  her 
unmistakable  signs  of  their  delicate  sympathy.  But  the 
generous  and  kind-hearted  Filicchis  especially  proved  her 
stanchest  friends.  Under  their  hospitable  roof  in  Leg¬ 
horn,  the  sorrowing  widow  and  her  daughter  found  at  last 
that  rest  and  comfort  which  after  their  tragic  experience 
they  so  sadly  needed.  Elizabeth  found  more.  Here  for  the 
first  time  practically,  she  was  brought  into  intimate  con¬ 
tact  with  a  genuine  Catholic  family.  That  noble  Catho¬ 
lic  household  deserves  a  place  of  honor  in  the  memory 
and  the  heart  of  every  Catholic  in  the  United  States.  It 


18 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


was  the  deeply  spiritual  atmosphere,  the  genuine  Catholic 
piety,  simple,  sincere,  tender,  which  reigned  in  the  home 
of  Antonio  Filicchi  and  his  brother  Filippo,  which  first 
opened  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Seton  to  the  beauty,  the  worth, 
the  real  meaning  of  the  Catholic  religion.  Their  good 
example  was  one  of  the  deciding  factors  in  her  conversion. 
Later  on  in  life  when  asked  why  she  had  become  a  Catho¬ 
lic,  she  answered  that  “She  had  seen  in  Italy  the  practical 
workings  of  the  Catholic  Church.”  It  was  her  commen¬ 
tary  on  the  words  of  Our  Lord :  “By  their  fruits  you  shall 
know  them.” 

During  the  few  months  they  stayed  in  Leghorn  and  in 
Florence  with  their  friends,  Anna  fell  grievously  ill,  and 
then  the  devoted  mother  who  tended  her  caught  the  same 
disease.  The  charity,  the  tenderness  and  watchful  care  of 
the  Filicchis  never  failed.  Mrs.  Seton  realized  more  and 
more  every  day  that  her  noble-hearted  hosts  drew  their 
charity  from  seme  supernatural  source.  That  hidden 
source  she  discovered,  when  with  them  in  some  quiet  lit¬ 
tle  shrine,  or  in  the  v/onderful  churches  of  Florence, 
where  men  and  women  were  not  ashamed  to  pray  before 
their  Sacramental  God,  she  attended  Mass,  or  saw  them 
receive  Holy  Communion.  Her  soul  was  naturally  Catho¬ 
lic,  and  it  is  not  astonishing  that  when  she  heard  the 
sound  of  the  little  bell  under  her  window  that  told  the 
passers-by  that  the  Viaticum  was  borne  to  the  dying,  she 
knelt  and  prayed  that,  if  her  Lord  and  God  was  really 
present  under  the  white  round  of  the  Host,  He  might 
bless  and  guide  her.  When  Antonio  Filicchi  taught  her 
how  to  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  she  trembled  with  a 
sacred  awe.  In  these  few  months  her  soul  made  rapid 
strides  in  the  knowledge  of  God  and  in  holiness.  To  An¬ 
tonio  Filicchi  and  a  learned  and  zealous  Irish  priest,  the 
Abbe  Plunkett,  she  exposed  her  doubts.  Merchant  and 
priest  solved  them,  but  above  all  things  told  her  to  pray. 

But  from  across  the  waters  the  voices  of  her  little  ones 
seemed  to  be  calling  to  her.  She  longed  to  press  them  to 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity  19 


her  heart.  For  the  last  time  she  knelt  at  her  “dear  Seton’s 
grave,”  and  a  Catholic  already  in  instinct,  prayed  for  that 
loved  one’s  soul.  At  the  last  moment  Antonio  Filicchi, 
who  had  for  some  time  intended  to  visit  the  United  States 
in  the  interest  of  his  business  affairs,  decided  to  sail  with 
her.  To  their  dear  Filicchis  then,  mother  and  daughter 
bade  a  loving  farewell.  Then  the  sailors’  cry  that  Mrs. 
Seton  loved,  the  long  and  hearty  “Yo  ho,  Yo  ho”  of 
sturdy  men  straining  at  the  capstan  bars,  sounded  from 
the  “Flamingo’s”  crew  as  the  ship  spread  wings  to  the 
breeze  and  turned  her  prow  to  the  west.  Fifty-six  days 
after,  on  the  third  of  June,  the  “Flamingo”  brought  the 
voyagers  safely  home.  A  little  more  than  a  month  after, 
tragic  news  spread  dismay  through  New  York  and  the 
entire  country.  Alexander  Hamilton,  victim  to  the  absurd 
and  sinful  code  of  honor  of  the  duelist,  had  fallen  mortally-? 
wounded  under  the  murderous  pistol  fire  of  Aaron  Burr, 
on  the  rocky  heights  of  Weehawken. 


20 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 

.  '  \  : 


III. 

THE  CROSS  IN  BARCLAY  STREET 

SORELY  tried  and  wounded,  but  victorious,  Elizabeth 
Seton  had  returned  from  one  battlefield.  Another  and 
a  fiercer  conflict  awaited  her  at  home.  A  few  days  after 
she  had  clasped  her  children  to  her  heart,  the  “friend  of 
her  soul”  Rebecca  Seton,  her  sister-in-law,  died  in  her 
arms.  The  blows  of  adversity  and  sorrow  were  falling 
heavily  upon  this  valiant  woman.  Five  children  whom 
she  loved  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  mother  were  to  be 
educated,  provided  for,  and  God  had  taken  away  father, 
husband,  the  elder  Seton  her  second  father,  and  that  pru¬ 
dent  and  unselfish  Rebecca  so  dearly  loved  of  her  little 
ones,  so  true  and  kind  to  her.  Her  present  burdens  were 
heavy,  the  future  was  dark  and  uncertain.  But  great  was 
her  trust  in  God.  We  hear  of  no  idle  complaints,  of  no 
empty  murmurings.  Her  children  absorbed  her  time  and 
care  and  on  them  she  lavished  all  the  treasures  of  her 
motherly  affection.  Now  that  the  fortune  which  she 
hoped  to  leave  them  was  greatly  reduced,  if  not  entirely 
impaired -by  her  husband’s  death,  she  realized  more  than 
ever  that  they  could  never  face  the  world  and  fight  the  bat¬ 
tles  of  life  unless  their  minds  and  their  hearts  were  trained 
to  the  highest  ideals  of  virtue.  With  these  they  might 
still  successfully  wage  their  battles,  without  them  they 
were  already  defeated  before  the  battle  began.  Elizabeth 
Seton,  the  angel  of  the  Lazaretto,  is  a  tragic  figure.  Eliza¬ 
beth  Seton,  widowed  of  the  husband  of  her  youth,  as  dig¬ 
nified  in  her  poverty  as  she  had  been  fascinating  in  the 
hour  of  her  prosperity  and  social  triumph,  teaching  her 
little  ones,  toiling  and  watching  for  them,  sharing  their 
pains  and  joys,  is  a  still  more  appealing  picture. 

Yet  all  the  while  a  fierce  struggle  was  going  on  in  her 
soul.  A  voice  seemed  to  be  calling  to  her.  In  that  voice 
there  sounded  echoes  of  the  consecrated  bells  she  had 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


21 


heard  along  the  banks  of  the  Arno  calling  the  people  to 

Mass,  echoes  of  the  prayers  she  had  joined  in  under  the 

* 

hospitable  roof  of  the  Filicchis,  faint  reminders  of  the 
words  heard  from  Antonio  Filicchi’s  lips  as  they  sat  on 
the  deck  of  the  “Flamingo”  and  that  true  Christian  gentle¬ 
man  explained  to  her  the  doctrines  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  At  times  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  little  bell  of 
St.  Peter’s  Church  on  Barclay  Street,  a  stone’s  throw 
from  Trinity  and  St.  Paul’s  Church,  where  she  went  to 
the  Protestant  service.  That  bell  was  calling  the  few 
faithful  Catholics,  the  poor,  despised  but  noble  children  of 
Erin  to  Mass,  the  same  Mass  which  she  had  heard  with 
such  deep  emotion  in  the  Old  World.  And  over  St. 
Peter’s  there  rose  the  Cross,  silent  monitor  and  apostle 
lifting  up  its  nlessage  for  all  to  hear,  far  above  the 
crowded  streets  of  already  busy  and  bustling  New  York. 
The  Cross  she  had  long  borne  on  her  heart.  But  the  Cross 
over  that  humble  church  where  a  handful  of  Catholics 
gathered  at  the  Altar,  seemed  to  mean  much  more  to  her 
now.  It  had  a  special  message  for  her.  She  knew  it.  It 
was  too  insistent  not  to  be  heard. 

All  her  life,  as  maid  and  wife,  in  the  peace  of  her  father’s 
house,  at  the  bedside  of  her  dying  husband,  this  noble 
woman  had  made  God  the  center  of  her  being.  That  ex¬ 
plains  the  depth  and  the  tenderness,  the  strength  and  the 
purity  of  her  love  and  affection  for  all  those  with  whom 
God  had  linked  her  fate.  God  she  meant  to  serve  above 
all.  Ever  she  had  had  the  most  intimate  sense  of  Hisi 
presence,  the  most  compelling  realization  of  His  rights 
over  her  love.  She  meant  to  serve  Him  now,  no  matter 
what  the  cost.  But,  where  was  He  to  be  truly  found?  In 
the  Church  of  her  Baptism,  in  that  Episcopal  Church  so 
dignified,  so  serene,  so  orderly,  but  so  cold,  so  unable  to 
give  her  a  sense  of  nearness  to  God  and  His  Blessed  Son, 
or  in  that  Church,  represented  by  the  cross-crowned  edi¬ 
fice  in  Barclay  Street,  which  she  had  seen  in  Italy  so 
strong  and  so  tender  and  so  happy  in  the  possession  of 


22 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


that  very  God  whom  it  worshiped?  Elizabeth  had  read 
her  Bible  over  and  over.  From  its  pages  she  realized 
what  the  Church  Christ  had  founded  must  be.  Was  the 
Church  of  her  Baptism  the  true  and  only  Church  of 
Christ? 

We  know  from  the  pages  of  another  illustrious  convert, 
the  soul-stirring  pages  of  Newman’s  “Apologia”,  that  no 
conflict  equals  in  poignant  agcyiy,  the  struggle  of  the 
seeker  after  religious  truth  asking  himself  where  that 
truth  is  to  be  found,  and  facing  the  difficulties  and  the 
sacrifices  that  must  be  made  to  follow  that  truth,  no  mat¬ 
ter  over  what  thorny  path  or  frowning  heights  it  projects 
its  beams.  That  terrible  fight  raged  for  some  time  in  the 
soul  of  Elizabeth  Seton.  Writing  to  a  Protestant  friend, 

who  had  alluded  to  her  conversion,  she  says : 

*  .  •*  ,  ' 

I  assure  you  my  becoming  a  Catholic  was  a  very 
simple  consequence  of  going  to  a  Catholic  coun¬ 
try,  where  it  was  impossible  for  anyone  inter¬ 
ested  in  religion,  not  to  see  the  wide  difference 
between  the  first  established  Faith,  given  and 
founded  by  Our  Lord  and  His  Apostles,  and  the 
various  forms  it  has  since  taken;  and  as  I  had 
always  delighted  in  reading  the  Scriptures,  I  had 
so  deep  an  impression  of  the  mysteries  of  Divine 
revelation,  that,  though  full  of  the  sweet  thought 
that  every  good  and  well-meaning  soul  was 
right,  I  was  determined  when  I  came  home,  both 
in  duty  to  my  children  and  my  own  soul,  to 
learn  all  I  was  capable  of  understanding  on  the 
subject.  If  ever  a  soul  did  make  a  fair  inquiry, 
our  God  knows  that  mine  did,  and  every  day  of 
life  increases  more  and  more  my  gratitude  to 
Him  for  having  made  me  what  I  am.  .  .  .  . 

It  was  the  knowledge  of  the  Protestant  doctrine 
with  regard  to  faith  that  made  me  a  Catholic; 
for  as  soon  as  on  inquiry  I  found  that  Episcopal¬ 
ians  did  not  think  everybody  right,  I  was  con¬ 
vinced  that  the  safe  plan  was  to  unite  with  the 
Church  in  which,  at  all  events,  they  admitted 
that  I  would  find  salvation,  and  where  also  I 
would  be  sure  of  the  Apostolic  succession,  as 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


23 


well  as  of  the  many  consolations  which  no  other 
religion  but  the  Catholic  can  afford. 

This  passage  and  similar  ones  to  be  found  in  the  cor¬ 
respondence  of  Mrs.  Seton  show  that  her  strength  and 
nobility  of  character  were  equaled  by  her  clear  and  logi¬ 
cal  intellect.  She  needed  now  all  the  aid  that  it  could 
give.  And  well  might  she  thank  good  Dr.  Bayley  for  the 
rather  stern  training  under  which  she  was  brought  up. 
She  fought  the  battle  of  truth  with  her  own  heart,  with 
her  own  immediate  friends  and  family,  who  were  soon 
made  aware  that  a  change  was  taking  place  in  her  con¬ 
victions.  With  a  dear  friend  of  her  earlier  years,  one  who 
had  been  a  spiritual  guide,  and  to  whom  she  was  genu¬ 
inely  attached,  an  Episcopalian  minister  of  unusual  at¬ 
tainments,  the  Rev.  M.  Hobart,  who  tried  to  keep  her  in 
the  Church  of  her  Baptism,  she  quietly  but  boldly  fought 
the  battle  of  truth.  She  was,  it  must  be  confessed  in  some 
respects  not  well  equipped  for  the  task.  Serious  in 
thought  and  clear- visioned,  she  had  after  all  but  little  for¬ 
mal  Catholic  teaching,  nor  had  she  read  many  Catholic 
books.  But  her  heart  was  instinctively  Catholic.  She 
wanted  the  truth.  She  prayed.  She  was  willing,  nay 
nobly  anxious  to  do  whatever  God  willed.  Then  she  had 
seen  Catholicism  at  work.  Even  from  the  capitano  of  the 
lazaretto,  she  had  learnt  a  lesson  of  kindness.  The  exam¬ 
ple  of  the  Filicchis  had  spoken  more  eloquently  to  her  of 
the  beauty  and  the  nobility  of  the  Faith,  than  learned 
treatises  could  do.  At  this  very  moment  Filippo  Filicchi 
was  writing  to  her  to  encourage  her  in  the  struggle  and 
to  solve  her  doubts,  while  Antonio,  during  the  time  which 
he  could  spare  from  his  trips  to  other  parts  of  the  country, 
was  at  her  side  with  his  cheering  words,  his  generous  aid, 
his  ever-open  purse.  And  ever  the  Cross  on  Stf  Peter’s  in 
Barclay  Street  was  pointing  skyward.  Silent  apostle! 
Stern-spoken  herald  of  the  Truth!  How  eloquent  its 
warning !  And  in  that  church,  in  the  tabernacle  to  which, 
as  she  tells  us,  her  eyes  unconsciously  turned  as  she  sat 


24 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


in  her  pew  at  Trinity  or  in  St.  Paul’s,  the  God  she  loved 
dwelt,  not  in  shadow,  not  as  some  vague  energy,  but 
really,  truly  and  substantially.  The  poor  worshipers 
of  St.  Peter’s,  the  humble  laborers  of  the  docks  and  mills 
and  warehouses  along  the  riverside,  possessed  Him. 
They  could  hold  Him  in  their  hearts.  She,  too,  must 
share  their  joy  and  their  happiness.  Encouraging  words 
from  the  saintly  Cheverus  in  Boston,  to  whom  she  had 
exposed  her  doubts,  from  Bishop  Carroll  of  Baltimore, 
whom  Antonio  Filicchi  had  interested  in  his  friend, 
showed  her  the  path  she  must  inevitably  follow,  if  she 
wished  to  please  God'.  On  the  Feast  of  the  Epiphany, 
1805,  she  happened  to  read  a  passage  from  one  of  the 
sermons  of  the  saintly  Bourdaloue,  the  great  Jesuit 
preacher  who  had  died  just  a  hundred  years  before. 
Speaking  of  the  disappearance  of  the  star  that  had  led 
the  Wise  Men  on  their  way,  and  addressing  those  who 
had  lost  the  star  of  faith,  this  great  master  of  the  spir¬ 
itual  life  says: 

• 

When  light  has  been  vouchsafed  and  then 
withdrawn,  the  memory  of  the  light  must  take 
the  place  of  the  light.  It  suffices  for  us  to  be 

able  to  say  ‘‘We  have  seen  the  star” . 

There  are  in  the  Church  doctors  and  priests  as 
there  were  then ;  men  appointed  to  conduct  you 
whom  you  have  only  to  listen  to.  Inquire  of 
them  as  to  your  course  and  they  will  tell  you 
what  to  do. 

The  words  were  as  a  flash  of  heavenly  light.  Some 
days  after,  she  had  in  all  likelihood  some  short  confer¬ 
ences  with  the  Rev.  Matthew  O’Brien,  then  pastor  of  St. 
Peter’s,  who  found  her  well  grounded  in  the  truths  of 
Faith.  ^On  Ash  Wednesday,  1805,  in  the  presence  of  An¬ 
tonio  Filicchi,  the  seeker  after  truth  had  reached  the  goal. 
For  the  first  time  she  entered  St.  Peter’s.  It  was  home 
at  last  and  the  peace  of  God.  The  altar  rails  were'\ 
crowded  and  the  Faithful  were  receiving  the  ashes.  The 
first  words  she  heard  told  her  of  human  frailty  and  the  \ 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


25 


grave:  “ Memento  homo  quia  pulvis  es  et  in  pulverem. rev¬ 
ert  eris.”  “Remember  man,  that  thou  art  dust,  and  into 
dust  thou  shalt  return.’,  Elizabeth  heard,  and  was  not 
afraid.  She  had  faced  death  once  for  a  husband’s  love. 
She  would  face  it  now  a  hundred  times  for  the  love  of  God. 
And  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  above  the  tabernacle,  she  saw 
Vallejo’s  painting  of  the  Crucifixion.  Her  God  had  died 
for  her !  As  they  rested  on  the  tabernacle,  she  knew  that 
her  God  was  living  there  for  her  and  wanted  her  love. 
She  gave  it  to  Him  without  reserve.  A  few  moments 
later,  she  had  made  her  profession  of  faith  in  the  hands 
of  the  pastor  and  in  the  presence  of  Antonio  Filicchi.  On 
the  Feast  of  the  Annunciation,  after  her  first  Confession, 
she  made  her  first  Communion,  and  a  peace  beyond  tell¬ 
ing  flooded  her  soul.  No  other  comment  can  be  made  on 
this  solemn  event  than  the  one  which  Elizabeth  her¬ 
self  makes  in  a  letter  to  Amabilia  Filicchi,  Antonio’s  wife : 
“I  am  His,  and  He  is  mine.” 

Elizabeth  needed  these  heavenly  consolations.  Once 
a  Catholic,  she  lost  caste  with  her  relations.  Doors 
hitherto  open  to  her  were  now  closed.  For  the  moment, 
social  standing  and  prestige  were  lost.  Poverty  was  fac¬ 
ing  her.  To  ward  it  off  from  her  children — for  herself  she 
cared  little,- — she  had  to  open  a  little  school  in  “Stuyve- 
sant’s  Lane,  Bowery,  near  St.  Mark’s  Church.”  But  at  a 
time  when  anti-Catholic  riots  were  taking  place  in  Augus¬ 
tus  Street,  now  City  Hall  Place,  and  Mayor  De  Witt  Clin¬ 
ton  was  obliged  to  issue  a  proclamation  to  protect  the 
lives  and  property  of  Catholics,  it  is  not  astonishing  that 
the  venture  should  be  a  failure.  But  God  never  leaves 
His  servants  quite  helpless  before  the  storm.  Generous 
friends  Elizabeth  found  in  the  family  of  James  Barry,  a\ 
rich  and  noble-hearted  Irish  merchant,  in  Bishop  Carroll, 
the  champion  of  every  form  of  helplessness,  and  in  those 
saintly  priests  who  laid  the  foundation  of  the  Catholic 
Church  in  the  United  States :  Tisserant,  Sibourd,  Matig- 
non,  Cheverus,  Dubois  and  Dubourg.  The  Filicchis 


26 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


never  failed  her  and  thanks  to  an  annuity  of  $600.00, 
which  they  had  settled  upon  her,  Mrs.  Seton  was  enabled 
to  face  the  crisis.  The  noble  brothers  of  Leghorn  wished 
even  that  she  should  make  her  home  with  them,  but  she 
had  gratefully  to  decline.  The  future  might  be  dark,  but 
with  her  trust  in  God,  she  knew  that  her  paths  would 
be  made  smooth.  When  she  knelt  before  Bishop  Carroll 
to  receive  the  soldier’s  Sacrament  of  Confirmation,  and 
then  listened  to  his  words  of  advice  and  comfort,  it  was 
as  if  a  great  burden  had  been  lifted  from  her  shoulders. 
Another  sturdy  pioneer  of  the  Faith  in  the  newly-born 
Republic,  Father  Dubourg,  Superior  of  St.  Mary’s  Sem¬ 
inary, .Baltimore,  realizing  that  for  the  present  New  York 
was  barren  ground  for  the  task  which  God  intended,  told 
her  of  a  work  calling  for  generous  hearts  and  sturdy 
hands.  Baltimore  had  no  school  for  Catholic  girls.  Why 
would  she  not  attempt  to  open  one?  The  words  were  a 
revelation.  Elizabeth  did  not  hesitate,  especially  when 
the  plan  had  received  the  emphatic  endorsement  of 
Bishop  Carroll,  of  Fathers  Matignon  and  Cheverus.  With 
her  two  boys  safely  placed  in  Georgetov/n  College,  the 
dauntless  woman  bade  farewell  to  the  city  she  loved,  to 
the  friends  of  childhood,  to  the  house  in  which  she  had 
spent  so  many  happy  days  with  her  father,  her  husband, 
and  her  beloved  Rebecca.  The  parting  must  have  been 
painful.  For  hers  was  an  affectionate  and  loving  nature. 

In  June,  1808,  in  company  with  her  daughters,  Anna, 
the  little  fairy  of  the  lazaretto,  with  Rebecca  and  Cathar¬ 
ine,  she  sailed  on  the  packet,  “Grand  Sachem”  for  Balti¬ 
more.  After  a  seven  days’  journey  in  the  year  that  fol¬ 
lowed  the  record-making  voyage  from  New  York  to 
Albany,  of  Robert  Fulton’s  steam-driven  “Clermont”, 
they  arrived  in  the  metropolis  of  Maryland.  It  was  June 
16,  1808,  the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi.  That  day  marks 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  Catholic  Church  in  the 
United  States. 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


27 


IV. 

THE  LILIES  OF  THE  VALLEY 

THE  house  on  Paca  Street,  where  Mrs.  Seton  opened 
her  school,  may  well  be  compared  to  one  of  those  rest¬ 
ing  places  mentioned  in  the  history  of  the  Hebrew  people 
on  their  long  journey  from  the  house  of  bondage  to  the 
Promised  Land.  Like  the  chosen  people,  she  was  not  to 
tarry  long,  for  it  was  but  a  halt  on  the  journey  towards 
the  goal.  Yet  great  things  were  done  there.  It  was  her 
novitiate  both  as  a  religious  and  as  a  teacher.  The  at¬ 
mosphere  of  the  city,  where  John  Carroll  was  undoubt¬ 
edly  the  most  important  figure,  and  where  Catholics  were 
numerous  and  prominent  in  every  walk  of  life,  was  quite 
different  from  that  of  New  York,  where  Catholics  were 
few  and  where  they  did  not  have  the  prestige  of  possess¬ 
ing  among  them  such  a  commanding  figure  as  the  illus¬ 
trious  shepherd  of  Baltimore.  The  exile  was  welcomed 
by  Catholics  and  Protestants  alike  with  true  Southern 
hospitality.  The  little  school  soon  had  all  that  its  narrow 
limits  could  hold,  and  its  teachers  supervise.  These  were 
Mrs.  Seton  herself,  her  bright  and  faithful  Anna,  and  Miss 
Cecilia  O’Conway,  the  daughter  of  an  eccentric  but 
learned  Irish  schoolmaster,  Mathias  James  O’Conway, 
“philologist,  lexicographer,  and  interpreter  of  langu¬ 
ages”  as  he  styled  himself,  who  was  well  known  in  Pitts¬ 
burgh  and  Philadelphia  in  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  The  brave  father  himself  brought  his  daughter 
to  Baltimore  and  offered  her  to  Elizabeth. 

Providence  had  despoiled  the  schoolmistress  of  Paca 
Street,  of  money  and  wealth.  It  made  her  rich  in  friends 
who  never  forgot  her.  Even  now  Antonio  and  Filippo 
Filicchi  were  watching  over  their  American  sister’s  tem¬ 
poral  welfare,  just  as  they  had  formerly  been  so  solicit¬ 
ous  for  her  spiritual  good.  At  this  moment  God  sent 
Elizabeth  the  generous  help  of  one  whose  name  should 


28 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


also  be  remembered  by  American  Catholics,  Mr.  Samuel 
Cooper,  a  convert  from  an  old  Virginia  family,  and  then 
studying  for  the  priesthood  in  St.  Mary’s  Seminary.  Mr. 
Cooper  had  some  fortune,  and  was  anxious  to  spend  it  in 
behalf  of  Christian  education.  The  valiant  woman  of 
Paca  Street  asked  herself  in  the  silence  of  her  heart 
whether  the  fervent  convert  might  not  be  willing  to  help 
in  the  work  she  yearned  to  begin.  Without  any  previous 
arrangement,  both  spoke  of  the  matter  to  Father  Du- 
bourg.  After  a  month  during  which  the  zealous  priest 
and  the  two  souls  whom  he  directed  had  commended 
their  plans  to  God,  it  was  decided  that  a  larger  field 
should  be  found  for  the  work.  Yielding  to  Mr.  Cooper’s 
wise  advice,  the  house  on  Paca  Street  was  to  be  aban¬ 
doned,  and  the  community  over  which  Mrs.  Seton  pre¬ 
sided,  for  her  household  really  deserved  that  name,  was  to 
be  transferred  to  a  piece  of  property  known  as  the  Flem¬ 
ing  Farm,  bought  by  Mr.  Cooper,  at  Emmitsburg,  a  vil¬ 
lage  about  fifty  miles  northwest  of  Baltimore.  The  words 
of  Wisdom  were  being  fulfilled  in  our  heroine  and 
in  those  through  whom  she  was  accomplishing  her  task. 
“She  hath  considered  a  field  and  bought  it.”.  (Wis.  21; 
16)  Verily  in  the  words  of  the  same  Holy  Book  which 
follow,  her  traffic  was  good :  “Her  lamp  shall  not  be  put 
out  in  the  night.” 

The  ladies  in  the  house  on  Paca  Street  were  religious 
in  all  but  the  name.  Their  number  had  been  increased  by 
the  arrival  of  Maria  Murphy,  niece  of  the  illustrious  Mat¬ 
thew  Carey,  first  publisher  of  the  Douai  Bible  in  the 
United  States,  champion  of  Irish  rights  and  one  of  the 
ablest  publicists  of  the  time.  Then  Mary  Ann  Butler 
and  Susan  Clossy  arrived  from  New  York  and  joined  the 
little  band.  They  were  soon  followed  by  Rose  White  and 
Catharine  Mullen.  Then,  some  time  before  the  departure 
for  Emmitsburg,  came  Cecilia  and  Harriet  Seton,  sisters 
of  William  Magee  Seton,  and  dearer  to  the  heart  of  Eliza¬ 
beth  than  words  can  tell,  the  first  already  a  Catholic,  the 
second  soon  to  follow  her  sister  into  the  Fold. 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


29 


The  first  American  Sister  of  Charity  had  made  her 
novitiate.  The  -  dress  she  and  her  companions  wore 
marked  them  off  as  consecrated  to  God.  The  life  she  led, 

_ a  life  of  prayer,  abnegation,  often  of  downright  suffering 

and  want,  but  always  of  deepest  trust  and  union  with 
God,  had  more  and  more  cleansed  her  heart,  already  puri¬ 
fied  by  the  sufferings  of  the  lazaretto,  by  the  estrange¬ 
ment  showed  her  by  her  loved  ones  in  the  hour  of  her 
conversion,  by  the  death  of  her  nearest  and  dearest.  It 
made  her  ready  for  the  sacrifice  she  was  now  going  to 
offer  to  God.  A  more  formal  consecration  of  herself 
seemed  to  be  needed.  So  in  the  presence  of  Bishop  Car- 
roll  and  a  few  priests,  she  was  admitted  to  pronounce  the 
simple  vows  of  poverty,  chastity  and  obedience.  These  V 
vows  bound  her  only  for  the  space  of  one  year,  but  could 
be  renewed  when  that  term  expired.  Her  heart  over¬ 
flowed  with  joy,  but  she  could  not  look  upon  the  honor 
thus  conferred  upon  her  without  a  sentiment  of  deep  hu¬ 
mility  and  almost  of  fear.  Her  vows  made  her  in  a  still 
more  formal  manner  than  before  the  Superior  of  her 
little  community.  The  task  terrified  her.  On  the  very 
evening  of  the  day  when  she  had  pronounced  them,  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  presence  of  her  Sisters,  openly 
acknowledged  her  sins  and  exclaimed :  “How  can  I  teach 
others,  who  know  so  little  of  myself  and  am  so  miserable 
and  imperfect.”  Her  Sisters  mingled  their  tears  with 
hers,  but  they  were  tears  of  admiration  and  love. 

The  time  for  the  exodus  to  Emmitsburg  had  come.  The 
noble-hearted  Father  Dubois,  Superior  of  Mount  St. 
Mary’s  College,  close  to  the  Sisters’  new  home,  had  a 
house  ready  for  their  coming,  although  they  lacked  every 
comfort,  almost'every  necessity.  In  this  apostle,  one  day 
to  become  Bishop  of  New  York,  Mother  Seton  and  her 
children  found  a  father  and  a  guide.  He  was  the  friend  of 
Lafayette.  A  future  President  of  the  United  States, 
James  Monroe,  had  given  him  hospitality  in  his  Vir¬ 
ginia  home,  and  Patrick  Henry,  the  American  Demos- 


30 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


thenes,  had  taught  him  English.  The  aristocratic  so¬ 
ciety  of  Virginia  pronounced  John  Dubois  the  most  cul¬ 
tured  and  refined  gentleman  in  the  United  States.  The 
poor  and  the  suffering  as  well  as  great  men  like  Chev- 
eriis  and  Carroll  reverenced  and  loved  him  as  a  priest 
after  God’s  own  heart.  Mother  Seton  could  find  no  bet¬ 
ter  spiritual  director  for  her  household.  Divided  into 
groups,  Mother  Seton,  her  beloved  Anna,  Harriet  and 
Cecilia  Seton  and  Cecilia  O’Conway  pioneering  the  way, 
the  community  had  made  the  long  journey  of  fifty  miles 
from  Baltimore  to  the  valley  which  was  to  be  their  per¬ 
manent  home.  The  exodus  began  on  June  21,  1809,  The 
“Stone  House”  on  the  Fleming  farm  soon  had  its  first 
Mass,  said  by  Father  DubOurg  on  the  31  of  July,  the 
Feast  of  St.  Ignatius.  There  were  by  this  time  ten 
Sisters  in  the  community.  The  names  of  these  dauntless 
pioneers  and  brides  of  Christ,  among  the  first  of  our 
American  womanhood  to  give  themselves  to  God  in 
religion,  deserve  to  be  remembered:  Elizabeth  Bayley 
Seton,  Cecilia  O’Conway,  Maria  Murphy,  Maria  Burke, 
Suzanne  Clossy,  Mary  Anne  Butler,  Rose  White,  Cath¬ 
arine  Mullen,  Sara  Thompson  and  Helen  Thompson.  The 
fairest  lilies  were  they  that  grew  in  St.  Joseph’s  Valley, 
“green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland.” 

Nature  had  prepared  them  a  dwelling  place.  The  little 
village  near  which  their  convent  home  was  slowly  grow¬ 
ing,  slumbered  quietly  between  the  upper  stream  of  the 
Monocacy  and  the  Catocktin  ridge  of  the  South  Moun¬ 
tain.  In  her  beautiful  life  of  Mother  Seton,  Madame  de 
Barberey  has  well  described  the  scene.  The  travelers  had 
come  to  the  valley,  when  nature  wore  its  loveliest  hues, 
when  the  freshness  of  spring  still  lingered  and  blended 
with  summer’s  early  bloom.  The  delicate  pink  and  snowy 
blossoms  of  the  apple  and  cherry  trees  had  vanished,  but 
the  boughs  of  the  cherry  trees  were  loaded  with  fruit  that 
glowed  like  rubies.  Beneath,  flamed  the  scarlet  Virginia 
strawberry  growing  in  riotous  profusion  amid  the  moss 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


31 


and  the  sworded  ferns.  The  hedges  were  bright  with 
roses.  The  superb  beauty  of  the  rhododendron,  the  white 
and  yellow  azaleas,  the  trailing  clusters  of  the  jasmine's 
scarlet  flowers,  the  white  trumpet-shaped  blooms  of  the 
convolvulus,  the  sassafras,  whose  tiny  fruit  dangled  like  a 
ball  of  jet  from  a  coral  thread,  smilax  and  phlox  and  be¬ 
gonia  everywhere  dazzled  the  eye  and  made  Elizabeth 
think  of  the  gardens  of  Florence.  For  over  them  bent  a 
sky  as  blue  as  Italy’s,  while  through  thicket  and  wood 
darted  like  a  flame  the  cardinal  bird,  and  the  mocking 
bird’s  deceptive  and  polyglot  symphonies  fell  upon  the 
ear. 

This  was  home !  This  was  sacred  ground !  To  this 
cloistered  solitude,  God  had  called  Elizabeth  and  her  spir¬ 
itual  children.  Here  would  they  rest  and  find  peace.__F.gr 
twelve  years  she  was  to  be  the  Lady  of  the  Valley*  the 
mistress  of  this  calm  abode,  the  guide,  the  mother  of  all 
who  dwelt  in  this  oasis  far  from  the  turmoil  and  passions 
of  the  world.  Of  that  world  and  its  doings  little  filtered 
into  the  solitude  of  St.  Joseph’s  Valley.  When  the  school 
was  ready,  children  came  and  at  the  end  of  1810  the  board¬ 
ers  alone  numbered  over  fifty.  Between  their  scholastic 
duties  and  their  religious  exercises,  the  Sisters’  life  was 
divided.  They  heard  of  great  wars  desolating  Europe,  of 
the  power“ancT  conquests  of  Napoleon,  of  the  captivity  of 
the  saintly  Pius  VII,  and  they  prayed  for  the  return  of 
peace  and  the  triumph  of  justice.  Such  events  as  the  in¬ 
auguration  of  James  Madison  as  President,  our  disasters 
and  successes  in  the  War  of  1812,  the  burning  of  Wash¬ 
ington,  our  skill  and  gallantry  on  the  seas  and  on  the 
lakes,  the  victory  of  Andrew  Jackson  at  New  Orleans, 
after  which,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Cathedral,  Father  Du- 
bourg  crowned  the  victor’s  brow  with  laurel,  the  election 
of  James  Monroe  to  the  Presidency :  these  tidings  reached 
of  course  the  secluded  valley  of  St.  Joseph,  and  filled  the 
heart  of  Mother  Seton  and  her  community  with  joy  for 
our  triumphs,  with  sorrow  for  our  disasters.  They  were 


32 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


Sisters  of  Charity,  and  they  loved  the  great  country 
where  in  freedom  and  peace,  and  honored  of  all  they  were 
trying  to  serve  God  and  help  their  neighbor.  But  the 
world  and  its  ways  little  affected  their  lives.  Indirectly, 
though  most  efficaciously,  they  were  toiling  for  its  better¬ 
ment  in  the  cause  of  sound  and  Christian  education,  and 
by  their  sanctity  and  unselfishness.  In  their  secluded 
dell,  the  lilies  lifted  their  white  flowers  to  the  sunshine 
and  the  dews  of  heaven,  little  disturbed  by  the  storm  that 
in  other  parts  of  the  world  swept  by,  bending  the  proud¬ 
est  heads  beneath  the  gale. 

In  the  spring  of  1810,  the  Apostle  of  Kentucky,  Bene¬ 
dict  Flaget,  Bishop-elect  of  Bardstown,  sailed  from  Bor¬ 
deaux  for  the  United  States.  Twice  the  ship  that  bore 
him  was  stopped  by  English  cruisers.  When  their  com¬ 
manders  learned  who  the  distinguished  Frenchman  was, 
they  courteously  let  him  pass.  It  is  quite  likely  that  it 
was  only  to  men  like  him,  to  Cheverus  or  Dubois  or  Du- 
bourg,  the  fame  of  whose  apostolic  labors  had  gone 
abroad,  that  England,  then  impressing  our  seamen,  would 
have  accorded  that  honor.  Bishop  Flaget  bore  a  precious 
document,  a  copy  of  the  Constitution  of  the  Daughters 
of  Charity  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  This  Constitution 
Mother  Seton  and  her  daughters  were  anxious  to  know 
and  understand.  For  they  thought  that  the  spirit  of  Vin¬ 
cent  de  Paul,  so  broad,  so  human,  so  kindly,  so  Christ-like, 
so  full  of  the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel,  would  suit  the 
needs  and  ideals  of  the  young  Republic  of  the  West  and 
satisfy  the  head  and  the  heart  of  the  daughters  of  the 
sturdy  democracy  of  the  United  States.  They  were  not 
mistaken.  With  some  slight  changes,  endorsed  and  ap¬ 
proved  by  the  prudent  and  far-seeing  Archbishop  Car- 
roll,  the  Constitution  was  adopted  by  the  community. 
It  was  an  inspiration  which  the  Daughters  of  St.  Vincent 
have  never  regretted,  and  for  which  the  Catholics  of 
America  must  ever  be  profoundly  grateful.  The  finger  of 
God  was  evident  in  its  adoption.  His  grace  has  for 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


33 


one  hundred  years  been  everywhere  manifest  in  the  fidel¬ 
ity  and  the  love  with  which  the  Daughters  of  Mother 
Seton  have  followed  St.  Vincent’s  Constitution. 

There  was  a  Constitution  then  to  observe.  It  was  not 
hard  to  find  a  leader.  In  spite  of  some  difficulties  con¬ 
nected  with  the  necessary  care  which  Mother  Seton  had 
to  bestow  on  her  children,  at  the  election  of  officers  of  the 
new  community  and  Congregation  held  in  1812,  she  was 
unanimously  chosen  Superioress.  She  kept  that  post  for 
three  terms  until  her  death  in  1821.  While  she  lived,  her 
daughters  could  think  of  no  other  Mother.  The  same 
election  made  Rose  White,  Assistant  Mother,  Catharine 
Mullen,  Treasurer — a  splendid  sinecure,  for  the  money¬ 
box  was  empty — and  Anna  Gruber,  Procuratrix.  A  year 
was  fixed  for  a  trial  of  the  new  Constitution.  The  limit 
prescribed  passed,  eighteen  Sisters  pronounced  the  sim¬ 
ple  vows  of  religion.  To  the  names  already  familiar  to 
us  we  must  now  add  those  of  Elizabeth  Boyle,  Angela 
Brady,  Adele,  Salva,  Louise  Roger,  Margaret  George, 
Martina  Quinn,  Fanny  Jordan,  Theresa  Conway,  and 
Julia  Shirk.  Their  vow-day  was  the  nineteenth  of  July, 
1813,  the  Feast  of  their  Patron  and  Patriarch,  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul.  A  week  later,  a  regular  novitiate  was  estab¬ 
lished,  with  Sister  Catharine  Mullen  as  Mistress  of  Nov¬ 
ices.  The  Lilies  of  the  Valley  were  in  full  bloom. 

No,  not  at  all.  For  like  flowers  bending  under  heavy 
showers,  Harriet  Seton,  her  sister  Cecilia,  both  so  dearly 
loved  of  Mother  Seton,  and  lastly  her  darling  Anna,  now 
by  her  vows  doubly  her  child,  had  dropped  to  earth  and 
were  sleeping  quietly  in  their  humble  graves.  Over  Har¬ 
riet  and  Cecilia,  Elizabeth  deeply  mourned.  But  when 
Anna,  whose  exquisite  beauty  was  but  the  outward  sign 
of  the  angelic  purity  of  her  soul,  her  mother’s  pride  and 
joy,  her  helpmeet  and  comforter  in  the  dark  days  of  the 
lazaretto,  was  taken  away,  she  was  like  Rachel  mourning 
over  her  dead.  But  the  saintly  Simon  Gabriel  Brute  had 
prepared  Anna  for  that  eternity  with  God  for  which  she 


34 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


longed.  He  comforted  the  mother.  Anna’s  sisters, 
Rebecca  and  Catharine,  had  joined  their  innocent  voices 
when,  on  her  death-bed,  Anna  had  asked  them  to  sing 
her  favorite  hymn.  Mother  Seton  had  knelt  near  them 
and  pressed  the  Crucifix  to  the  lips  of  her  dying  child, 
while  Father  Brute’s  priestly  hand  was  lifted  in  a  parting 
blessing  over  what  seemed  to  be  the  form  of  some  celes¬ 
tial  being  that  had  strayed  from  Paradise.  At  her  darl¬ 
ing’s  grave,  the  Mother  had  but  the  strength  to  murmur 
the  words:  “Father,  Thy  will  be  done.” 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


35 


V. 

THE  FRUIT  OF  HER.  HANDS 

IT  IS  no  difficult  task  to  analyze  the  character  and  sanc¬ 
tity  of  Mother  Seton.  Her  character  was  as  transpar¬ 
ent  as  crystal,  marked  by  directness,  simplicity,  tender¬ 
ness,  nobility  and  strength.  It  was  frank,  open,  cordial, 
sincere,  and  sealed  by  a  refinement  and  charm  of  man¬ 
ner  that  won  all  hearts :  those  of  her  husband  and  chil¬ 
dren,  of  the  little  ones  under  her  care,  the  Sisters  of  her 
community,  the  Filicchis,  and  saintly  men  like  Carroll, 
Dubois,  Cheverus  and  Brute,  whom  God  gave  her  as 
directors  and  guides.  She  was  a  woman  well  fitted  to 
become  the  model  of  Catholic  American  womanhood. 
Made  perfect  in  many  things,  she  can  be  proposed  as  a 
pattern  to  maid,  mother,  wife  and  widow,  to  teacher  and 
religious.  She  knew  what  it  is  to  be  tenderly  loved.  She 
felt  the  heavy  burden  of  her  friends*  forgetfulness  and 
disdain.  To  her  children,  her  husband  and  her  friends 
she  was  devotedly  attached,  for  her  affections  were  as 
strong  as  they  were  pure.  Though  she  walked  through 
life  by  her  loved  ones*  open  graves,  she  never  lost  her 
trust  and  faith  in  God.  In  every  stage  of  her  life,  she  had 
made  duty  her  watchword ;  in  that  duty  she  never  failed. 

Her  naturally  beautiful  character  was  spiritualized  and 
supernaturalized  by  prayer  and  union  with  God.  As  an 
Episcopalian  she  had  longed  to  be  united  with  Christ. 
As  a  Catholic  and  a  religious  she  centered  her  life  around 
the  Altar  of  her  Eucharistic  God.  In  Holy  Communion,  in 
Holy  Mass,  she  found  her  strength  and  her  greatest  hap¬ 
piness.  When  those  patriarchs  of  the  Catholic  Church 
in  America,  Brute  or  Dubourg  or  Dubois  offered  the 
Great  Sacrifice  in  the  little  chapel  in  the  Valley,  and 
Mother  Seton  with  Cecilia  and  Harriet  and  Anna  at  her 
side,  followed  by  her  spiritual  daughters,  approached  the 
Holy  Table,  the  beholder,  forgot  that  they  were  living  in 


36  The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


the  New  World,  and  imagined  they  were  summoned  back 
to  the  early  days  of  Christianity,  so  fervent  and  so  pure 
did  the  Sisters  appear.  Deeply  pious,  she  was  thoroughly 
mortified.  The  Cross,  she  knew,  was  both  the  symbol 
and  the  summary  of  the  Gospel.  Self-abnegation  was  its 
first  law.  So  she  was  mistress  of  herself,  of  her  heart  and 
its  affections.  Unselfishness  had  been  her  distinguishing 
mark  in  the  world.  It  stamped  still  more  distinctly  her 
whole  life  in  religion.  Had  Elizabeth  Seton  died  as  the 
wife  of  William  Magee  Seton,  she  well  might  have  ut¬ 
tered  the  words  which  the  world’s  greatest  dramatist  puts 
on  the  lips  of  the  dying  Catharine  of  Aragon :  “Cover  me 
with  maiden  flowers,  that  all  the  world  may  know  I  died 
a  chaste  wife.”  What  might  not  be  said  of  the  innocence 
and  purity  of  her  life  in  the  cloister?  Guide  of  others  and 
invested  with  authority  over  them,  she  had  first  learnt 
to  obey.  Not  once  in  her  life  as  a  Catholic  do  we  find  her 
judgment  or  her  will  in  opposition  to  the  commands  or 
suggestions  of  her  superiors  or  spiritual  guides.  With  a 
childlike  simplicity  she  yielded  herself  to  their  wise  direc¬ 
tion.  Yet  she  was  a  woman  of  unusual  strength  of  char¬ 
acter. 

Like  the  valiant  woman  of  the  Proverbs,  she  put  out 

4 

her  hand  to  strong  things,  and  her  fingers  took  hold  of  the 
spindle.  Elizabeth  was  an  indefatigable  worker  in  the 
cause  of  education,  in  the  cause  of  the  poor,  in  the  inter¬ 
ests  of  God.  Under  the  guidance  of  the  far-seeing  men 
whom  Providence  sent  her  with  such  clearly-marked  de¬ 
sign,  she  realized  that  a  Christian  education  was  the  chief 
need  of  her  times.  Of  formal  pedagogy,  she  knew  little, 
perhaps.  Rut  shejiajd  known  the  joys  and_the  responsi¬ 
bilities  of  motherhood.  She  understood  children  and 
loved  them.  Sympathy,  kindness,  gentleness  marked  her 
dealing  with~them.  Like  her  own  children,  all  children 
loved  her  and  knew  that  in  her  they  had  a  second  mother. 
'She  had  once  known  the  stress  of  poverty.  The  poor 
were  her  friends.  Her  daughters,  whether  they  wear  the 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


37 


white  cornette  of  Emmitsburg  or  the  darker  head-dress 
of  Mount  St.  Vincent-on-Hudson,  or  its  fair  daughters, 
Mount  St.  Vincent,.  Halifax,  and  Madison,  New  Jersey, 
whether  they  belong  to  the  Cincinnati  or  the  Greensburg, 
Pennsylvania,  foundations,  are  ever-  welcome  and  hon¬ 
ored  visitors  among  the  lowly  and  the  poor  in  the  homes 
of  suffering  and  want. 

Like  the  valiant  woman  described  by  the  sacred  writer, 
Mother  Seton  opened  her  hand  to  the  needy  and  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  the  poor.  In  1814  almost  at  the  very 
moment  in  that  year  when  Washington  was  sacked,  the 
capital  burnt  by  the  British,  and  an  English  fleet  under 
Admiral  Cockburn  was  ruthlessly  harrying  the  shores  of 
the  Chesapeake,  while  mid  the  rockets’  red  glare,  Francis 
Scott  Key  was  writing  the  “Star-Spangled  Banner,”  on 
the  request  of  Bishop  Egan  of  Philadelphia,  she  sent  Sis¬ 
ter  Rose  White  to  take  charge  of  the  orphan  asylum  in 
that  city.  It  was  the  first_J!niission”  of  the  Sisters  of 
Charity  in  the  United  States.  Their  first  labors  were  for 
the  outcast.  In  1817  Bishop  Connolly  of  New  York, 
hearing  of  the  nohle  work  done  by  the  little  Philadelphia 
community,  earnestly  begged  the  Superior  of  Emmits¬ 
burg  to  come  to  the  help  of  the  abandoned  children  of 
her  own  native  city.  It  was  a  request  that  could  not  be 
denied.  The  zealous  Sister  White,  whose  executive  abil¬ 
ity  was  remarkable,  was  detailed  for  the  work.  She  and 
her  two  companions,  Sister  Cecilia  O’Conway  and  Sister 
Felicite  Brady,  arrived  in  New  York  on  June  23,  1817,  and 
immediately  began  their  work  in  a  humble  frame  house 
in  Mott  Street.  Here  they  laid  the  cornerstone  of  a 
mighty  edifice,  the  splendor  and  beauty  of  which  these 
humble  workers  did  not  dare  foresee.  A  hundred  years 
ago  Mother  Seton’s  daughters  had  but  one  house  in  her 
native  city.  They  now  count  there  thirty-five  convents, 
forty-nine  parochial  schools,  fourteen  academies  and  high 
schools,  one  vocational  school,  six  child-caring  institu-N 
tions,  four  hospitals,  one  home  for  the  aged  and  one  col- 


38 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


lege.  They  are  seen  in  the  magic  city  on  the  Hudson, 
doing  God’s  work,  whatever  it  be,  from  the  streets 
through  which  Elizabeth  strolled  as  a  child,  almost  from 
the  Battery  she  knew  so  well,  to  the  woods  fifteen  miles 
away,  where  the  gray  Norman  towers  of  Fonthill  and 
the  massive  pile  of  Mount  St.  Vineent-on-Hudson  over¬ 
look  the  river  and  eloquently  speak  of  the  magnitude  and 
the  growth  of  a  work  which  was  evidently  the  work  of 
God,  for  He  has  singularly  blessed  its  every  stage. 

Another  pen,  we  hope,  will  describe  more  fully  the 
growth  of  the  work  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  in  New  York. 
That  work  received  an  extraordinary  impulse  in  1846  at 
the  time  when  the  Emmitsburg  community  was  making 
plans  to  be  affiliated  to  the  French  Sisters  of  Charity  of 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  to  adopt  their  dress  and  their  rule. 
On  the  request  of  Bishop  Hughes  of  New  York,  who 
wanted  the  Sisters  in  his  diocese  to  take  charge  of  schools 
and  asylums  for  boys,  the  New  York  Sisters,  with  full 
ecclesiastical  sanction,  formed  a  second  Mother  House, 
that  now  known  as  Mount  St.  Vincent-on-Hudson. 
Its  first  Superior  was  Elizabeth  Doyle,  in  whom  the  spirit 
of  the  Foundress  lived  anew. 

•  The  fruit  of  Mother  Seton’s  hands  had  now  grown  to 
maturity.  The  hands  themselves  were  drooping  with 
fatigue.  They  had  toiled  unselfishly  and  unremittingly  at 
every  task  God  had  confided  to  them.  Great  joy  had  come 
to  the  foundress  in  the  success  of  her  work  in  the  Val-. 
ley  and  in  the  missions  of  New  York  and  Philadelphia. 
Sorrow  was  not  wanting  now.  Her  beloved  friend  Rebecca 
was  taken  away  from  her  by  a  premature  death.  Filippo 
Filicchi  had  gone  to  his  reward,  while  all  Baltimore,  the 
Catholic  Church  in  the  United  States,  and  the  Holy  Fa¬ 
ther  in  Rome,  had  mourned  over  the  death  of  Archbishop 
Carroll.  She  could  never  dream  that  her  nephew,  James 
Roosevelt  Bayley,  born  in  1814,  the  year  before  John  Car- 
roll’s  death,  would  be  one  of  his  successors  in  his  archi- 
episcopal  see. , 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


39 


Never  strong,  worn  out  by  her  austerities  and  labor, 
Mother  Seton  became  so  ill  in  the  autumn  of  1820  that  it 
was  thought  she  would  die.  Of  death  she  was  not  afraid 
and  she  calmly  prepared  for  the  last  summons.  Her  da^rs 
of  sickness  were  one  long  meditation  and  prayer.  Her 
memory  was  a  storehouse  of  holy  and  pious  thoughts.  It 
was  not  difficult  for  her  to  commune  with  God,  then,  for 
she  had  ever  been  most  fervent  in  meditation  and  prayer. 
Her  children  who  now  realized  that  they  would  soon  lose 
her,  showed  her  how  deeply  they  loved  her.  Every  care 
and  attention  that  affection  could  lavish  was  given  to  the 
patient.  They  read  to  her  the  books  she  prized,  passages 
from  the  Life  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  and  Mademoiselle 
Le  Gras,  now  known  as  Blessed  Louise  de  Marillac,  his 
spiritual  daughter,  from  the  “Meditations”  of  Father  Da 
Pcnte,  works  which  she  herself  had  translated  with  un- 
usual  care  and  elegance  from  the  French.  They  prayed 
with  her.  With  her  they  were  preparing  for  death,  for  the 
last  lesson  this  valiant  woman  taught  her  children,  was 
how  a  Christian  and  a  religious  should  die.  Her  daughter 
Catharine,  one  day  to  become  a  holy  Sister  of  Mercy, 
never  left  her  mother’s  side.  The  last  scenes  that  took 
place  between  them  were  marked  by  such  pathos,  such 
faith  and  resignation  to  God’s  holy  will,  as  to  cause  all 
that  witnessed  them  the  holiest  emotions.  To  William  Se¬ 
ton,  then  at  sea  as  an  officer  on  the  U.  S.  S.  “Macedonian” 
returning  from  a  lengthy  cruise,  her  mother’s  heart  turned 
with  yearning  for  she  knew  that  she  would  never  again 
press  him  in  her  arms. 

Winter  came  and  the  patient  grew  weaker  every  day. 
The  long  nights  reminded  her  of  eternity.  She  yearned  to 
pass  it  with  God,  but,  with  her  deep  humility  she  feared 
the  judgment  seat  of  an  all-just  Judge.  But  her  friends 
and  spiritual  guides,  Fathers  Brute  and  Dubois,  re¬ 
minded  her  of  God’s  mercy.  She  had  known  it  too  well 
to  doubt  their  words.  Her  heart  thanked  Him  once 
more,  for  all  His  fatherly  tenderness,  and  above  all,  for 


40 


The  First  American  Sister  of  Charity 


having  brought  her,  in  spite  of  her  unworthiness,  into  the 
bosom  of  the  true  Church.  On  December  31,  1920,  she 
was  able  to  receive  Holy  Communion.  It  was  the  last 
time  she  was  privileged  to  receive  her  Eucharistic  Lord7 
On  the  second  of  January  Father  Dubois  administered 
Extreme  Unction.  Through  their  blinding  tears,  her 
beloved  Catharine  and  her  spiritual  daughters  could  only 
see  her  face  transfigured  with  faith  and  love.  Too  weak 
to  address  her  children,  she  begged  Father  Dubois,  who 
was  deeply  moved,  to  ask  her  Sisters  to  forgive  her  the 
scandal  she  might  have  caused  and  begged  them  to  be 
true  children  of  the  Church,  and  to  love  and  keep  their 
rules  and  holy  vows.  It  was  a  simple  but  a  sublime 
testament.  She  asked  one  of  her  Sisters  to  recite  her 
favorite  prayer,  the  Anima  Christi.  Two  days  after,  early 
in  the  morning  of  Thursday,  January  4,  with  her 
Crucifix  pressed  to.  her  lips  and  murmuring  the  Sacred 
Names  of  Jesus  and  Mary,  she  quietly  passed  away. 

In  the  presence  of  such  a  scene,  our  thoughts  are  those 
of  her  friend,  Father  Brute,  who  reached  the  death-bed 
a  few  moments  after  Mother  Seton  had  expired.  The 
next  day  he  jotted  down  the  following  words : 

O  mother!  O  Elizabeth!  O  Faith  profound! 

O  tender  piety!  .  .  .  Her  eminent  character; 
her  indulgence  to  others;  her  charity  so  careful 
to  spare  others !  .  .  .  Her  attachment  and 

gratitude  to  friends!  Her  deep  respect  for  the 
ministers  of  God  and  the  least  things  of  religion ! 
Heart  so  loving,  so  compassionate,  so  religious, 
so  generous.  Excellent  Mother!  We  lose  you 
and  mourn  for  you !  But  you  are  happy. 

But  Mother  Seton  is  not  lost  to  us.  She  lives  in  the 
memory  of  her  saintly  life  and  virtues.  She  lives  in  her 
works  and  in  the  thousands  of  her  daughters  who  follow 
her  rule  and  reproduce  her  virtues.  On  the  first  centem 
nial  of  her  saintly  death,  we  thank  God  for  His  gift  of 
Mother  Seton  and  of  the  American  Sisters  of  Charity  to 
the  Catholic  Church  in  the  United  States. 


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